Die Young
by sadisticscribbles
Summary: Sherlock runs into a man at the club. Little did he realize what an impact John H. Watson would make on his future life. Pre Study in Pink. Oneshot. Rated M for language and some suggestive dialogue. Warning: Song fic with Ke ha's Die Young!


**A/N: Something to hold you until I get a move on with Love of a Mother. Sorry there haven't been many updates, the chapter I'm on is really tough so... But I will get it done! I promise! This isn't exactly a song fic, but it's got song lyrics in it so... yeah. So, to keep you all entertained and to satisfy you die-hard Johnlock shippers, here's ****_une histoire d'Amour douce amère_*****!**

**God I wish these people were mine. It's probably good they aren't, though. **

John Watson smiled at the red haired woman on his arm. She was a curvaceous woman, the half-moons of her ivory colored breasts peeking just enough out of her viridian cocktail dress. She'd been a real find-who would have guessed that a knock-out like Becca Thorne would be training as a nurse? Luckily she had been, though, or John would never have met her.

"Thanks for bringing me, John." Becca smiled at him, her teeth gleaming in the strobe lights. Normally, John Watson didn't frequent nightclubs, but Becca had insisted, and who was he to refuse woman like her? "What do you want for drinks?" Becca asked, and smiled again, the lights giving her an almost feral appearance. "Or are you afraid I'll get you drunk?" She teased.

"I _know_ you're going to get me drunk, so why should I even bother worrying?" John retorted. Becca laughed, a throaty, sensuous giggle that left John's mouth dry.

"Well?" Becca asked through her mirth. "What do you want?"

"What's best?" John asked. "You've been here before."

"Well, I'd recommend the Cherry Wonderland. You know, vodka, cherry, pineapple, the works."

"Is that what you're having?" John said.

"Hmm." Becca tapped her fingers absently on the table they'd chosen. The beat was hypnotic, John found himself on multiple occasions trying to follow the beat._ One two three four, one two three four, one two three four, one two..._

"I think I'll be adventurous tonight." She told him. "The East Indian Trader is sounding good." She stood. "You stay here. I'll order."

John raised his eyebrows.

"And who was it that took you on this date?"

"And who was it that begged to come here?" She said. "Me." She tapped her chest. "So I might as well pay." She leaned closer, her breath hot on John's ear. "You can have your moment later tonight."

John nodded as Becca went to the bar. He was finding swallowing a challenge, because his throat was dry as a bone.

_Looking for some trouble tonight_

_Take my hand, I'll show you the wild side_

_Like it's the last night of our lives_

_We'll keep dancing till we die_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes wasn't enjoying himself. Not at all. He'd accepted Lestrade's invitation for a round of drinks for a case well and truly closed mostly because Mrs. Hudson had insisted he get out of the flat. Of course, this meant that he was spending his late night hours in a club with far too much smoke, lights, and music, in the company of the most idiotic members of Lestrade's division-namely, Sally Donovan and Anderson.

Donovan and Anderson were dancing, luckily, so Sherlock could at least concentrate on appearing interested in his surroundings without having to think up new insults for the two. Not that he really needed to. Devising insults were practically a hobby of his. Now he squinted at the menu above the bar, trying to make out cocktail names.

"What's the first one called?" He shouted to Lestrade over the noise.

"No idea, can't make it out!" Lestrade hollered back.

"I'll have that one, then." Sherlock said.

"What?"

"I'LL HAVE THAT ONE, THEN!"

"Oh, right."

"S'cuse me, darling." A woman sliced her way through the crowds, the green batiste cocktail dress sliding across Sherlock's hip. She turned, and her eyes flicked up and down. "Hallo." She said. "And who're you?"

_Oh for God's sake._ Sherlock thought. She was hardly his type-the kind of woman who would fuck you one night, and pretend you didn't exist the next. She wasn't worth the cost of her ridiculously cheap dress.

"A man who's not interested." Sherlock replied coldly. The slut huffed, and moved on.

Was she single or had she brought some fool with her? His eyes flicked to her left wrist, where a gold and pearl bracelet nestled against the alabaster of her skin. Her other jewelry was obviously fake, but glittered and gleamed in just the way that would attract a certain man. Who but a lover would by her a bracelet like that? Sherlock's eyes moved to the direction where the woman had come from and his eyes rested on a man with ash-blond hair, several premature grey flecks accenting the color neatly. He looked likely.

Lestrade handed Sherlock his drink. The Consulting Detective took a sip and coughed, his eyes watering slightly.

"Jesus Christ, could they have made that any sweeter?" He said to nobody in particular. He turned to Lestrade. "And why did they think this orange wedge would improve _anything_?" Lestrade rolled his eyes with all the attitude of someone who's known Sherlock Holmes for over a year.

Sherlock's eyes roved back to the man he'd spotted sitting alone, just as he looked up from the table menu. Blue eyes met hazel, and burned.

_Let's make the most of the night_

_Like we're gonna die young_

* * *

The tall, angular man was staring at John intensely. What did he want? John raised his eyebrows at the man, and, to his surprise, the man joined him.

"Before your night out goes from bad to worse, I might as well tell you now that your date does not intend a long-term relationship-in fact, I'd be surprised if the affair lasts through tonight-God only knows where you picked _her_ up, but my advice is that you put the bitch back where you found her."

"Sorry," John said. "Who are you, and what was all that about my girlfriend?"

"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective." The man rattled off. "And your girlfriend isn't interested. How do I know she's your girlfriend? Because of the bracelet on her left arm."

John stared at his hands, unsure of what to say.

"Oh. Right."

"Mind if I join you?"

Now John raised his eyebrows.

"You don't even know my name."

"Do names matter?"

"In my experience, yes."

Sherlock Holmes rolled his eyes.

"Presumably you know your girlfriend's name, and look where _that_relationship's headed."

He nodded at the bar, where Becca Thorne was in deep conversation with a blonde woman in red lamae. Occasionally her hand would wander over the blonde's, and she'd lean in, so close their lips almost brushed.

"Good Lord."

"I really don't think she'll care what you do." Sherlock said. "To me she seems rather busy."

"Right, well, I'm John. John Watson."

_Looking for some trouble tonight_

_Take my hand, I'll show you the wild side_

_Like it's the last night of our lives_

_We'll keep dancing till we die_

As their conversation meandered its way through the night, Sherlock was increasingly aware of the god-awful pop music fading away. There was nothing but the sound of their voices as gradually their drinks vanished in their glasses.

"You're holding your drink marvelously well." John observed. Normally, a man would be on the floor after a glass of what Sherlock was drinking.

"Because I know the trick of drinking far less than people think you are." Sherlock said.

"You seem like a man who knows a lot of tricks." John replied.

"I do."

John leaned in.

"Like what?"

Sherlock was getting lost in John's eyes. Warm, hazel oceans...

Before he even realized what was happening, Sherlock had put his hand over John's.

"Perhaps I've been drinking more than even I think I have."

John smiled.

"Is that such a bad thing?"

Sherlock's pale sapphire eyes seemed to sparkle.

"Perhaps not."

John tilted his head to the side slightly, as they came closer, lips inches away from touching...

"John, isn't it time you took me home?"

Becca Thorne was leaning against the back of John's chair, smiling drunkenly. "I think we were banking on you taking me home?"

John smiled apologetically at Sherlock.

"I guess I might as well." He looked back at the Consulting Detective. "It was...er...nice talking with you." He said awkwardly.

After the pair had left, Sherlock was alone. Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson had given up and left an hour ago. Surrounded by strangers, Sherlock stared at the place where John had just been sitting.

_I hear your heart beat to the beat of the drums_

_Oh what a shame that you came here with someone_

_So while you're here in my arms_

_Let's make the most of the night like we're gonna die young _

* * *

**Don't ask me when I decided that Ke$ha and Sherlock was something that needed to be done. I don't understand it either. Also, Sherlock's cocktail with the unreadable name _does _exist. It's called Sherlock's Hound. I couldn't resist. All other cocktails mentioned do exist. You can look them up. Finally,**

***A Bittersweet Love Story**

**Hope you enjoyed it, and please tell me what you thought of it? Should I do more like these? **

**Review, or I shall be forced to send the weeping angels after you.**


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